Evil Rides A Harley
by frostygossamer
Summary: Pamela Barnes has a message for the boys, but runs foul of Gemma Morrow. Tenth in my 'Evil Is As Evil Does' sequence. AU


Summary: Pamela Barnes has a message for the boys, but runs foul of Gemma Morrow. Tenth in my 'Evil Is As Evil Does' sequence.

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><p>Evil Rides A Harley by frostygossamer<p>

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><p>PoV: Pamela Barnes, sexy sassy psychic<p>

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><p>It was Friday night. I sat alone with a bottle of very fine Bourbon, laying tarots for everyone who'd emailed me their questions, the past week.<p>

Time and again my three card deals ended with the future card 'The World'. I dismissed it. It's not such a bad card 'Completion', 'Reward', not real bad things, I know, and coincidence is just that. Still, it unnerved me a little to see it time and again.

Finally, I gathered up my cards and went for one last deal. Clearing my mind, feeling the question, and sensing how the well-worn cards of my favourite deck felt in my expert hands as I shuffled.

"Who?", I asked the cards. "Who will bring about this 'End'?". And the cards answered me: past 'The Hermit', present 'The Heirophant', future 'Judgement'.

I frowned, and I tried hard to think who the cards were showing me. Who did I know who fit this profile from my subconscious mind? I drew a blank. No one I knew. Yet.

I sighed, took a slug of my bourbon and tried another approach, a new question.

"Who?, I asked the cards again. "Who will lead me to the truth?". And the cards answered me again: past 'The Lovers', present 'The Chariot', future 'The World'.

'The World' again? That was not helping. Who did I know that these cards fit?

"Damn it, little darlings", I chuckled. "Not helping Momma much tonight. Let me try one last card. And, darlings, make this a knockout."

After one last careful shuffle, I closed my eyes and drew one card. I placed it square on the table and opened my eyes again.

'Justice'. Reversed.

"Ah, John", I sighed. "I've seen your card before. John Winchester you old mule."

Now I knew that John Winchester was an old buddy of my pal Bobby Singer. I also knew that John and Bobby were missing, probably dead. They were hunters. It happens. But somehow I didn't feel that the cards were asking me to hold a seance, not this time. No, I felt like John was the starting point, and from John they would lead me toward the truth I was seeking. So I got out my cell and started to make calls.

The next morning I got a call-back, from Ellen of Harvelle's Road House. She too was an old friend of Bobby's, and she had a suggestion. John's boys. They were still around someplace and her daughter, Jo, had a number for one of them.

So I dropped him a wake-up.

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><p>PoV: Dean Winchester, son of John, protector of Sam, killer<p>

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><p>We were woken early by a call, from some gal named Pamela Barnes. She wanted a meet. She said she was an old playmate of Bobby's. That rang an alarm bell, for sure. Hell, it was me that put a bullet in the old boy, after all. But she had something real urgent she wanted to talk to me and Sam about, so I agreed to meet her in a neutral place, a biker's bar on route 66. Sam wasn't exactly keen, but sometimes you gotta come at trouble head on.<p>

When we drew up in the Impala, the joint was already overflowing with leatherboys and their painted ladies, a mouth-watering array of Harley Dynas lined up outside. We walked in. We got checked over, sure, but I'd warned Sam: keep your mouth shut, no eye contact, hands out of pockets. We weren't there to make trouble, just talk, and our lady guest better know that too. The place was a tinderbox, and anything flaky, anything, would set the place alight.

Nowhere could be safer.

We'd been there maybe an hour when she showed. And, if you're ever in the area, I recommend the cheeseburgers. She took off her helmet, and shook out her long dark hair, Pamela was a good-looking gal, oh yeah. All the male eyes in the room were on her, the minute she walked in the door. There was a feline hiss from the females. One big guy in particular, grey hair like a yard brush, looked interested. He gave her a wink. His old lady looked like a wasp biting a lemon.

Pamela slid into our booth, right next to me, and looked me up and down.

"Hi, sweet stuff, you must be Dean", she said, with a smirk. "I'm Pamela. And", glancing over, "this honey must be Sam, I guess."

Sam looked a little uncomfortable. He got jealous easy. I took her wandering hand off of my knee and put it on the table.

"Hands in sight", I said, and she laughed.

"You're a psychic, right?", Sam interrupted. He did his research. "You have some kinda message for us?"

"Not exactly", she said, getting down to business. "I got a message, kinda, from my cards, my tarot. And I was hoping that your dad could help me to understand it."

Sam bristled a little at the mention of Dad.

"But he's gone. I'm aware. And that's no business of mine", she assured him. "So I came to the next best thing."

I laughed. The next best thing to Dad, that was rich.

"So what do you want us to help you with?", I asked.

"It's this", she said, and she drew a playing card from her purse.

She handed it to me. It showed a chick with a fine rack and a nice ass, butt-naked except for a badly placed piece of ribbon. I couldn't help but whistle. Sam snatched the card from my hand and stared at it.

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><p>PoV: Sam Winchester, lover of Dean, patricide, desperado<p>

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><p>I studied the tarot card Pamela had given Dean. It was number 21, 'The World'.<p>

"OK, so doesn't this mean 'the End' or something'?", I asked.

"Bravo", Pamela chuckled. "You know your Major Arcana. Yes, it means the end, completion, final reward and so on. The problem is I seem to deal it way to often."

"Like when?"," I asked.

She explained, "Like in a deal of three cards, the simple layout I favour for answering my customers' little questions, the third card is this one, nine times out of ten."

"And the third card represents the future, right?", my tarot skills were a little rusty.

"The future", she said nodding.

"And so, nine out of ten times, the future is 'The End', Dean said. "Sounds logical".

"Yeah? Well, not for everyone", she responded. "Some people have a life."

"Hell, Pamela, we all die in the end", I observed.

"This isn't Death", she replied. "Death has his own card."

All this time Pamela had been staring at the big SOB who had winked at her. I turned in my seat and saw that he was leering back. His date was looking pretty sour. Pamela tore her eyes away from him and looked at me.

"If you want my interpretation, I'd say there's something final on the horizon. Don't know what it is, but it's sure enough there. Just wish I could see more."

Suddenly her elbow was grabbed by the handsome older woman who had been getting so riled up about Pamela eyeing her man. She dragged the psychic to her feet, and glared in her face. Guess Pamela should have seen that coming.

"My name", she said. "Is Gemma, and that", she pointed at the grizzled guy with the wayward wink, "is MY husband, Clay."

Pamela turned to the middle-aged female and treated her to a sassy look. That was so not a good move.

"Then I guess you shudda kept him in order", she retorted.

Now you'd think a sensitive would be more, well frankly, sensitive.

Gemma was clearly in no mood to take that lying down. She grabbed Pamela's hair and pulled. Pamela latched onto her attacker's do and pulled back, trying at the same time to kick the nice lady in the shin. Gemma stomped on the psychic's foot with her wicked stiletto heel. Pamela yowled in pain and let go.

Gemma used Pamela's inattention to her advantage. She grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her onto the floor. Big ugly bikers scattered left and right, like scalded cats. Pamela pulled Gemma crashing down on top of her. Both women now had each other by the throat, and were rolling around on the floor.

The guy she'd called Clay jumped up, and tried to prise his wife off of the psychic. Gemma turned her head and bared her teeth at him, snarling. He backed away with his hands up in front. Clay knew better than get the wrong side of Gemma, when she was mad as Hell.

"Fear the Reaper", someone shouted. "Ride free or die", someone else yelled back. Pretty soon the entire place was up and swinging.

Pamela groaned and, with a huge effort, rolled the older and heavier woman onto her back, splaying on top of her. Both gals' hair was now a mess. Pamela attempted to distract Gemma by yanking at her opponent's expensive earrings, tearing her earlobes. Gemma let go Pamela's neck, and grabbed her own ear, wincing with pain.

Pamela made to stand up, but Gemma whisked her foot behind the younger woman's calf and unbalanced her. Pamela sank to her knees trying to steady herself. Gemma pulled herself across the floor to Pamela, grabbed her face in both hands, and tried to plunge her long scarlet nails into her enemy's tear ducts.

Finally Clay, and another guy, perhaps her son, managed to drag Gemma away, leaving Pamela with her eyesight, just. But her vision was blurred, and there was blood on her face. She looked like she'd been through a mincer.

"Oh my God, I can't see! I'm blind!", she wailed, melodramatically.

Pamela stood up wonkily and staggered toward the door. After two steps she collapsed, out cold.

The party was still in full swing. I grabbed Dean, and we made a run for the door. Luckily the bikers were absorbed in their own in-fighting. They didn't notice us go, though there was this one guy that Dean had to punch in the face. But I think my brother just got caught up in the moment.

Outside in the parking lot, we paused to get our breaths back.

That guy, Clay, came out after us. He took out his cell and called for an ambulance. Snapping his phone shut, he looked at us and rolled his eyes. We just shrugged and he went back inside.

"What do you suppose she meant 'something final on the horizon'?", Dean asked me.

"Dunno", I answered. "Sounds pretty vague."

"Well, she's the second person that's said that to us", he pointed out.

"Guess we'll just have to wait and see", I said.

The End

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><p>AN: Not knowing much about the tarot, I've just made a bold guess at the cards Pamela might draw. I hope I haven't made any enormous faux pas.

A/N: By the way, I don't watch 'Sons of Anarchy', so I hope I haven't upset any fans with my portrayal of Gemma and Clay. I do however lurve both Ron Perlman (go Vincent!) and Katey Sagal (go Peggy! go Leela!) so I enjoyed inviting them into my fic for a bit of fun.


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